


Insomnia

by laneypenn



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and hey look its not clearly milo/zack... dont get used to that, got some anxiety and paranoid thoughts for yall too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 20:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10170839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laneypenn/pseuds/laneypenn
Summary: I don't think it's possible for me to be really brave. I'm not courageous, I run away shrieking if anything jumps in front of me suddenly. I don't think you have that problem. A lot of things scare me. Nothing scares you.I'm afraid.





	

I'm afraid. 

It's never been a new emotion. I've always felt panic. Mom used to have to check for monsters in the closet and under the bed and even then I was still terrified of them and I felt their claws wrap around my ankles and pull me out of my bed every night and then my body would jerk awake and I'd be lying safely in bed again with my feet tucked under the blanket because no matter how hot it was the monsters always grabbed my ankles and if I let them do it in real life I'd be killed. 

And I know monsters aren't real, but I still can't possibly sleep at night without having my nightlight in my room to make sure there's nothing else lurking in the shadows. My fears have slowly become less far away and so much more close as I grow older, and I've moved on from being afraid of monsters to being afraid of unknown stalkers and serial murderers waiting outside my window. I lie in bed and turn onto my stomach and hug a pillow under me, trying to force myself into Dreamland. Nightmareland. They're the same thing. Dreams hurt my ability to understand reality just as much.

I'm afraid.

My heart beats too fast and I worry, and I'm afraid that I'm going to have a heart attack and I try to ease my anxiety by reminding myself that I'm only thirteen years old so a heart attack out of nowhere would be unlikely. I'm healthy, I exercise, I eat enough but not too much, I'm not going to have a heart attack -  _ Is my arm going numb? _

I try to keep my breaths from becoming shallow and quickening. It's psychosomatic, all in my head, irrational, and I'm not having a heart attack. I clutch my chest and my heart's still beating fast, but that has to be from the panic. It's beating. It's beating. It's beating.

I'm afraid.

The room is so dark even with the nightlight, but I dare not get up to turn on the lights. That alerts the killer outside of my presence, and while I know that logically there's a very small chance of a slasher being in my backyard, I can still feel him looking at me through the walls and the opaque curtains, and if I move too much I know he'll get me. I just know it.

I'm afraid. 

I close my eyes to try again to shove myself into sleep. I can't seem to calm down. I can't move or he'll get me, the unnamed man who walks around just where I'm unable to see him and yet he's perfectly able to see me. I know he's not there, I know he’s not  _ real _ , but still I'm petrified. I'm afraid.

I'm afraid. 

I sit up before I paralyze myself waiting for sleep. I can’t sleep. It’s impossible. I stare at the window, covered by curtains, as I force myself to stand and quickly, not taking my eyes off the curtains, scramble across the room for the lightswitch. No killer breaks through the window, no monster grabs my foot as I get out of bed, and my heart doesn’t stop beating. I quickly get back into bed and under the covers and I’m exhausted just from turning on the lights. I pull out my phone to check the time. 11:23 PM. 

It's too early to decide that sleep is futile, but I don't want to try anymore. I know that I'm crying but the tears streaming down my face barely register in my senses and I try to tell myself what I  _ know _ : monsters aren't real, there's not a slasher killer stalking me, a healthy thirteen-year-old is not going to have a heart attack. 

I'm still afraid.

I try to go to a happy place in my mind and I end up at school with you beside me and you take my hand and I can feel that you have everything under control and you're prepared for anything and for once I feel  _ safe _ . And that seems ironic, but I know that you always have a plan when things go wrong and you don't ever seem to get worried or scared.

Or afraid.

I'm afraid, again, because you're not actually here and you wouldn't actually be able to save me from monsters or a murderer. 

(That's just the paranoia, Zack, come on, just think about things objectively and it'll help -)

I think of calling you and I almost resist it before my phone is in my hand and it reads “Milo Murphy” and I tap the call button.

It's probably rude to call at 12:05 AM. I'm not entirely sure I care. 

You actually answer, which I wasn't expecting. “Hey, Zack,” I hear your sleepy voice mumble and suddenly I don't know how to speak to you, because all I called for was to hear your voice. “What's up?”

“Uh…” I swallow my nerves again. “Hey. How's it goin’?”

“Pretty good.” You yawn as you speak. “Why'd you call?”

“I'm afraid.”

It slips out of my mouth before I can stop it and I don't make any moves to take it back. I'm feeling absolutely panicked right now. I feel like you'll probably understand.

“What's wrong? Why are you afraid?”

Paranoid delusions. Generalized anxiety disorder. Phobias.

“I don't know.”

“Oh, I hate it when that happens,” you say, like you're trying to normalize the panic attack I'm having. I can feel bugs crawling on my arms. I know they're not really there. I still don't look to see. “What are you afraid of?”

Now that's a question. My mind jumps, automatically, to the next worst fear in my arsenal. There's going to be a crash or a slam or a bang over the phone and I'm going to say “Milo?” over and over again and you won't answer. I'll beg you to speak and the call will cut off and you won't answer when I call you back. It was a nightmare I had, once, and I hate dreams because even when I got up the next morning and found you at the bus stop, my mind was still convinced I was looking at a ghost. Premonition dreams, premonition dreams, premonition dreams -

I'm afraid.

You can hear my fast, shallow breaths through the phone. I think I hear you sitting up and I know I should calm down because I’m sure you’re starting to get worried. I also know that thinking about how I should calm down never makes it suddenly possible to calm down. And you start talking.

“Zack, listen to my voice.” I’m not sure if I am listening or not. My name is Zack. Right? I almost don’t recognize it. I don’t feel like Zack right now.

“Breathe with me. Can you do that?” I make a sound. I'm not sure whether it's denial or affirmation, but you seem to decide the latter as you start taking in a long, deep breath that I can hear over the phone. I breathe in with you and it feels like too much, but I continue to breathe in until you stop. You hold your breath for a couple of seconds, then you breathe out and, again, it feels like I'm losing all the air I've ever breathed. I think I'm going to suffocate.

I follow your breaths. I don't think my panic is disappearing, but I keep trying. I still feel like I'm slowly going to suffocate and my mind automatically jumps to the conclusion that you're suddenly out to get me, but I push it aside. Breathe in. Breathe out.

It becomes easier, my breaths becoming less cough-y and more natural. I swallow and try not to remember why I was afraid in the first place - I focus on you and your breaths and don’t focus on how my entire body is sweaty and I feel so, so tired. That should be a good thing, because it’s nighttime and I need to sleep, and I want to hang up but I don’t want to hang up; I want you to just talk me to sleep but I can’t  _ ask _ you to do that because that’s so needy. 

Deep breath. 

You stop, and I breathe without your help and it’s fine. I swallow again, unable to find the words to thank you. 

“Are you better now?” I try to make my sigh sound affirming. I don't want to try to speak yet. You start talking again about something, and I can't really listen anymore. I'm so exhausted and I want nothing more than to just sleep.

Your voice is comforting in its own odd way, and I sink into it like it's a waterbed with silk sheets, soft and cool and gentle to me. I try to stay awake and give you answers to any questions you ask. They're always yes or no answers and I still only make small noises in response.

My eyes won't stay open, and I'm aware that I left my light on but I can't seem to work up the energy to turn it off. I don't really want it to be off, I think. 

Light and your voice go well together, and they're so comforting. 

I feel myself sinking and I'm so relieved and happy to finally be able to sleep. You continue to talk quietly into my ear - Quieter and quieter, it seems, as I fall asleep. 

I wake up the next (the same?) morning to my phone buzzing on my face and my alarm ringing into my ear. I turn over and turn it off, realizing I have a headache as I get out of bed. I ignore the signs to myself that I was panicking last night and just focus on getting ready for school today.

I pick up my phone and notice a notification on my lock screen. I check the text, which you sent me at 1:04 AM last night, and smile widely, my face heating as I do.

It's not much, just “sweet dreams” with a moon emoji and a star emoji, but it helps me somehow. Maybe it's the confirmation that what happened last night was real, or just that you're so cute, but I keep grinning the whole time I get ready for school.

I'm so happy, and I can't really put my finger on why, but I don't usually try to figure why I feel things anyways.

I'm not afraid. That's enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> you can pry anxiety ridden paranoid delusional zack from my cold dead hands


End file.
